


The Cat's Mouse, or the Mouse's Cat

by Wolf_of_Lilacs



Category: WordGirl
Genre: A cat being a cat, Gen, Mad Scientists, pastrami sandwiches can ruin lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6698965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/Wolf_of_Lilacs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Two-Brains says goodbye to an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cat's Mouse, or the Mouse's Cat

Where have you gone? You used to come back from your occupation that smelled of harsh chemicals and rats and metal and read a book while I curled up in your lap. You used to come back from your occupation, brimming with excitement and plans and deliver long monologues to me. You would scratch behind my ears and croon sweet-sounding sentences to me that I could never understand. 

You would read and I would purr. You would pace and I would weave around your ankles, so that you would nearly trip. (Goodness, that was entertaining.) You would sigh and pet me ...

And now you are gone.

#

Pain is the first sensation to return to him. Confusion follows swiftly. Who is he? A mouse? A man? And more importantly: What the devil is this ... thing ... attached to his head?

Good God! Expecting multiple possibilities was one thing, but providing the means for the undesirable ones to occur was an unnecessary invitation to disaster. What should he take from this? Why, to never eat another pastrami sandwich. It had distracted him. And cheese sandwiches are preferable. Unfortunately, cheese is lacking.

He drives to the grocery store, but the driving is strange. His head feels heavier than it should, and this inexplicable cheese craving is so ridiculously out of character that he wonders why he'd ever cared about lab animals' perceptions. (Die, mouse brain, die.)

#

You came home that night and smelled of rats and looked at me like you were afraid of me. You've never been afraid before. What did I do? The feelings you've harbored toward me before were never fear. Protectiveness, or some other sentiments I'm not certain of. They were better than this.

Where are we going? It's too soon to be the vet. I'm not sick, and am certainly not in the mood for pokes and prods by a harsh-smelling stranger who speaks to me in a voice meant to soothe ... which doesn't. Is where you're taking me worse than the vet?

She smells somewhat like the way you did before. There is no rat smell. And she sounds kind, vet-kind. Who is she? Why are you leaving? Why do you sound like you do when salty water comes out of the places near your eyes? Why are you still afraid of me? "Goodbye, Caprice," you say. You're leaving me! Please come back! Please ...

#

"Professor Boxleitner! Is everything okay?" He hears WordGirl, but the haze of longing the mouse brain has produced leaves him unable to respond in a meaningful way. He must have the cheese. To hell with WordGirl.

As he continues on this necessary cheese heist, she forcibly prevents him. "What happened to you?"

"No time for talk. Cheese is gold. Good day!" The grocery store manager weakly protests–"Wait! Come back?"–as he races away with as much cheddar, gruyere, and feta as he can carry. WordGirl lets him go, still clearly confused.

He returns to his apartment with the pilfered cheese—the only kind worth having, affirms the mouse brain—and immediately notices a scent that leaves him quivering in terror. _Cat_! cries the mouse brain. _Kitty_ , he responds shakily. _Oh, kitty ..._

Caprice is watching him, looking as if she will pounce or run away. He can't keep her. He doubts if he can stay here at all. He can't work like this ... "Come on, Caprice." As he approaches her, her gray-and-white fur stands on end and she hisses. He backs away involuntarily, the mouse brain keening. Gritting his teeth, he ignores it. "Caprice! Come here, kitty." He purrs at her. She relaxes marginally and approaches him. He picks her up.

The drive to his sister's house is interminable. Caprice yowls in her carrier, desperate to go home. He speaks to her fruitlessly: "You'll be happier here, little one. I wish I'd remembered you were more important than mice. I wish it were your brain attached to my head. I wish—" He cannot continue. The mouse brain exults.

"Steven, what happened to you?" his sister queries after she lets them in. "Good God, I barely recognize you. You look like you aged fifty years. And what is that thing?" She gestures at his head's newest addition.

"The evidence of a mistake I don't know whether I can fix," he replies ruefully. "But I can't keep Caprice like this. Will you keep her, if or until '''?"

"I suppose. Why can't you keep her, exactly?"

"This is a mouse brain."

"Of course it is," she sighs, exasperated. "What's your plan now?"

"I don't know. Stealing cheese, I guess. I'll make a game out of it. Keeps the devil spawn happy." He grimaces. "Also I can't resist this thing's cheese cravings without pain."

She frowns. "Good luck, or something. Can't someone help you remove it?"

Thinking about this brings on another bout of agony. "No," he groans. "I need ... cheese. Goodbye, Caprice. And thank you, Crete. I love ... y-cheese."

As he hurriedly departs, Crete sighs and strokes the cat. "My brother is an idiot, and I don't know how to help him. WordGirl might, maybe."

**Author's Note:**

> Steven Boxleitner seemed like a cat person.


End file.
